Shadow Of The Trees
by Rabbit-impudent guttersnipe
Summary: AU fic. What if Drusilla had also been cursed by the Gypsies? How would it affect the show? this is kind of a re-telling of The Fanged Four's history. Warning: character death.


** Shadow of the Trees**

  
  
  
  
  
  
**Romania 1898**   
  
  
Demons.   
  
Demons and blood.   
  
The gates of hell were open and the Devil rode on a river of blood… gypsy blood.   
  
The last surviving member of the camp raced through the darkened woods. Panic circled through her brain, but instinct kept her footsteps light. She was practiced in fading quietly into the background. She and her older brother went into town at least once a week to lift a few coins from the gentry, and being able to disappear after the deed was essential to continued success…and long life.   
  
//Try to be small and imagine a grey cloud surrounding you…imagine their eyes passing right over you.//   
  
They used to go into town anyway, now he was dead. Her entire clan was.   
  
A lady had come into the camp. Well dressed she was, and very beautiful. It was easy to tell that she was a foreigner- English. The girl recognized the accent because she even spoke some…her father had taught her because it was easier to pick the mark if you understood what they were saying, and travelers usually had fat purses. Yes, she'd definitely been English.   
  
//He shall be very cross///   
  
She'd seemed nice, but then something had happened to her face, and…now everyone was dead.   
  
//They cried out for mercy.//   
  
Another Caravan was just over the hill and she prayed that she would make it. The two clans were reasonably friendly, and occasionally offered assistance or just camaraderie. If only she could reach them, she would warn them. Surely they would have room for one more…she could pay her own way…she had skills. Her throat was raw and her heart beat so fast n her chest, she was sure it would push it's way through her skin…everyone was dead.   
  
She collapsed at the edge of their camp.   
  
"Monstru…drãcesc"   
  
Hands reached for her and pulled her into the circle of firelight amidst a tangled barrage of questions. There were too many sensations all at once: too many voices… the heat of the fire…burning of her lungs as she gasped for air and tried to find the words to warn them. She could feel everything growing fuzzy and she tried to stay alert.   
  
". a ajuta, a asista…vampir "   
  
"cine-i acest…(who?)"   
  
"Drusilla."   
  
"Quod perditum est, invenietur."   
(What is lost…return)   
  
//My name is Drusilla, my horse has thrown me…//   
  
"Te implor, Doamne, nu ignora aceasta rugaminte.   
(I implore you, Lord, do not ignore this request.)   
  
//she's so skittish, I think she saw a rabbit//   
  
"Nici mort, nici al fiintei..."   
( Neither dead, nor of the living...)   
  
//can you help me?//   
  
"Lasa orbita sa fie vasul care-i va transporta, sufletul la el."   
(Let this Orb be the vessel that will carry …)   
  
//He'll be very cross//   
  
"Asa sa fie! Asa sa fie! Acum!"   
( So it shall be! So it shall be! Now!)"   
  
//They cried out for mercy//   
  
  
  
vorbesti de lup si lupul la usa   
(talk of the devil and he will appear)   
  
***   
  
"Where the hell is that girl now? I swear she's as stupid as a post. She'd wander out into the coming dawn if I didn't watch her every step."   
  
William thrust the torch into the curtains waving from the open window of the gypsy's wagon and delightedly watched as they curled away from the consuming flame before turning to the sound of his great grandsire's voice. She'd been agitated all night and in a foul mood to be sure. Naturally he felt the need to defend his sire, but he didn't feel like rousing the brunt of the blonde's ire. Nor, did he want to be her target as she took her anger out over an absent childe.   
  
"Oh, she's around," he replied cautiously, keeping a wary eye out. She wasn't above cuffing him in the head when she was upset or didn't like his answer, so he'd learned to say it and be ready to back away. He'd dearly love to hit the bitch, but Angelus would never stand for that. Plus, she looked fragile enough, but she was an evil hag and fucking strong.   
  
She whirled in his direction with her hand raised, but he'd already moved out of her reach. She gritted her teeth in frustration. "That's a little vague. Maybe you could actually be of some help tonight and find out Where The Hell She Is…*Exactly*!"   
  
Oh, this was all his fault now, was it? She should have bloody well let him in on the plan before they came. All she'd said was kill everyone. Well he had, followed orders to a –T? Was she happy? No. She was incapable of ever being satisfied. Well fuck gypsies, fuck Angelus and his soul and fuck Darla.   
  
He was going to look for Dru now, not because *she* ordered it, but because he was starting to get worried.   
  
It had been at least half an hour since he'd seen her. The last time had been when she'd danced with him over the body of Angelus' curser. She'd been giddy with the kill, cheeks flushed and eyes growing sleepy and sensuous. He felt an ache and vowed to find her quickly. She was always very horny after a feed, God bless her.   
  
He easily picked up her scent among the ashes of the camp and began following her trail…   
  
***   
  
Pound. Pound. Pound.   
  
"Please, please my good lady. Open the door. I beg you…help me."   
  
The door opened and an older woman in a long nightgown opened the door blinking, obviously awakened by the noise in front of her door. "Good lord child, what are you doing out at this hour? It's not safe at this time of night."   
  
"Who is it?" A man's voice sounded behind the woman. It was her husband. He held an ancient rifle in his hands, loosely aimed at the door.   
  
"Please let me come in. I can't bear to be out here any more. With the dark…and the screaming…"   
  
The woman craned her head to survey the landscape, but only saw the girl standing in front of her. She was obviously terrified, her entire body was trembling and her hand shook as she brushed her long, black hair out of her face. "They cried out for mercy, but there was none. Daddy was gone and Grandmum was so angry…so angry."   
  
The woman took her shoulders in motherly concern. "There, there dear…come inside." She escorted the girl across the threshold and seated her at a chair in front of the fire, wondering what on earth she was talking about. She must be in shock…or touched. Regretting her impulsiveness for inviting her in, the woman crossed herself, then laughed at her own superstition. Saints, it was just a girl…and a cold and frightened one at that. "I'll just get you some tea, that'll warm you up."   
  
"No, it can't live inside of me…it hates the blood." She reached out to her hostess, but she already bustled about at the fire. Drusilla didn't know how to make the woman understand. It was inside of her now. It came at the gypsy camp on softly rustling wings and set a war within her that could never be settled. She'd run as far as she could, but she was starting to understand that she could never leave it behind.   
  
"No," the woman tsked as she set the hot cup on the table in front of her guest. "It'll warm your blood and you'll see that there's nothing to be frightened of."   
  
She didn't understand. It followed her everywhere, in the moonlight…and in the shadow of the trees. Spike would be here soon and she didn't know if she could explain it to him either.   
  
Drusilla noticed a small face peering around the corner at her, standing in haste; she spilled the cup of hot liquid before she realized that it wasn't Spike. It was a child. It must live here…but not for long. Spike would come for her and no one would live. "Hide yourself. He'll come for me and you won't be safe."   
  
The eavesdropping child let out a squeal of fright and disappeared back into the other room.   
  
"Mercy, that child would faint at her own shadow. Get to bed you…you've had enough excitement for the evening," the girl's mother called after her in mild warning. "And don't forget to say your prayers."   
  
"Yes, say them…say them for us all." Drusilla knew it wouldn't do them any good, but she could pretend. She could pretend that the child's whispered pleas would reach God's ears and he could forgive her for the things she'd done.   
  
"Why don't you come and lie down?" The woman urged her. "I'll find something for you to put on and you can get some rest. You look exhausted."   
  
"Not exhausted…cursed." Drusilla allowed the woman to fuss over her, wondering how long it would take Daddy and Spike to find her. She could hear the muted whispers coming from the other room.   
  
"I'm going to go out…have a look around."   
  
"Be careful…"   
  
***   
  
This is where the trail led, some small farmhouse. Hadn't she had her fill of gypsy blood this evening? Why would she take off on another hunting trip, and why hadn't she said anything about it to him?   
  
There had been another scent trail leading out of the camp, a female. Spike had thought at first that Dru was going after her…a 'no survivor's quest', which she usually loved, but the two trails diverged and he forgot about the gypsy as he realized there was something wrong with Dru.   
  
Her path was wide and unfocused, rambling, and the smell of her fear was strong. But as far as he could tell, there was nothing following her. Just a crazy, unpredictable trail that led here.   
  
He rounded the corner of one of the outbuildings and ran right smack into the homeowner, who had a rifle supported on his shoulder and Spike in his sites.   
  
"I don't know who you are, but get the hell off of my land."   
  
Oh, pissed natives. If he was still alive, then Dru must have passed this place by. She never was one for tough, stringy meat. Maybe it was better to play nice and see what this bloke knew. "Hello, I'm looking for my wife, little thing, 'bout this tall, black hair. Ya' seen her?"   
  
//Hide yourself. He'll come for me and you won't be safe//   
  
"No."   
  
There was something he wasn't telling, some secret. Spike tried again," She's pregnant, and sometimes she gets these 'strange fancies' and takes off. Hell of an imagination. I just want to find her before she hurts herself, or the baby…do you have children?"   
  
***   
  
"If you love your husband, I suggest that you let me in. Or, I can kill him right here as you watch. What's your choice? If you're cooperative, I might let you all live." Spike shook the man by the throat as his wife looked on in horrified astonishment. He could see her wavering, but her marital affection won out. "Come in."   
  
As he crossed the threshold, he snapped the farmer's neck and let the body fall. The wife stared in shock, unable to make a sound as the vampire walked straight into her kitchen. She was a big woman and strong from working on the farm, but her strength was human and tempered by her stunned disbelief as she saw her husband of nineteen years lying broken on the floor.   
  
"I'm looking for Drusilla. Don't bother to lie to me, because I know she's here." Spike looked around, wondering what kind of prank Dru was up to now. He could smell her here, but then why were these people still alive? "Dru, honey. I'm here, come out now. Darla's going mental and I want to get back before she completely loses it."   
  
There was no answer.   
  
He grabbed the woman by the arm and twisted it until he heard the bone snap. "What the hell is going on here? Where is Dru?"   
  
The woman pressed her lips together and held her silence.   
  
Hmn, did she think he wasn't serious, that he'd just go away? "Where's your lovely daughter? All tucked snugly in her bed…safe from the boogey man?" Her eyes widened and the tight line of her lips relaxed in dread over the mention of her child. "Yes, your husband was going on about her, raved over what a smart little thing she was…Your only child isn't she?"   
  
Her eyes flicked to the doorway. "She's in there. Take her. Just leave us alone."   
  
"I will…"   
  
Her body joined her husband's, bouncing once on the floor before her head settled on his chest. If you ignored the obvious trauma to their cervical spines, it was almost a peaceful embrace.   
  
"…take her… Dru honey, come out."   
  
"Nnnooo. It won't let me."   
  
He walked into the other room, following the sound of her voice and found her huddling against the headboard, shielding her head with her crossed arms. He walked slowly over to her with a small laugh. "Very funny luv, ya had me. Now let's get out of here." He reached out to take her elbow and help her off of the bed.   
  
"Nooo," she screamed, pressing herself tighter against the bed.   
  
Now he was getting exasperated. They didn't really have time for this. The sunrise was coming in a couple of hours and Darla was already madder than hell."   
  
"Pet, come on. Let's go."   
  
She looked at him finally and he backed away at what he saw in her eyes. A soul. Those goddamned gypsies had cursed her just as they'd done to Angelus. "Dru," he breathed in regret, cursing himself for not watching out for her more closely. "Oh Dru, no."   
  
"I'm a monsterrrrrrrrrrrr," she wailed in heartbreak.   
  
The sound filled the small room and very soon felt like it was echoing in his skull. He couldn't think with her voice accusing him, and that's what it did—why the fuck hadn't he kept a better eye on her? This was all his fault. What the hell was he going to do? Poncy Angelus with a soul was one thing, but not Drusilla, not his black Goddess.   
  
He walked back into the kitchen, hoping to clear his head. Dru's cries faded to muffled sobs as she buried her face into the pillows. He shut the door to the room and paced up and down the length of the kitchen, hoping that some way to reverse the night's event would come to him.   
  
In the kitchen's quiet, he heard a tiny noise coming from a bin near the fire…this little sigh.   
  
He hated this bloody country and everyone in it.   
  
Walking over to the coal bin, he swung open the lid and violently hauled the child out of there.   
  
"Leave her alone, " Dru screamed behind him and hit him with the fireplace poker. He dropped the girl and wrestled the iron from Dru's hand. "sshh, come on luv, let's get out of here."   
  
  
**China 1900**   
  
  
"You don't understand. Angelus is gone. My mate is gone forever. Those fucking gypsies took him away and he's never coming back." Darla reached for a lamp on the table next to her and within seconds it came flying past his head.   
  
"Do I need to remind you that Dru was cursed as well? My sire is gone too. But, I seem to remember that it was *you* that kicked him out… *both * of them. So why are you wasting your time trying to break my head?"   
  
"Because you screwed up my last chance to get him back. Those rituals are dead now, there's no turning back."   
  
Spike and Darla had been traveling for nearly two years after Angelus and Drusilla had left together. Angelus had caught up with them here and begged Darla to take him back, but it didn't last long. He couldn't reconcile their lifestyle with his new soul. Darla had kicked the ponce out again. Unfortunately, he'd lost track of Dru just before finding them. There was no news of Spike's Sire or how she fared.   
  
Angelus' appearance had brought up the whole Romanian incident and it seemed like that was the only thing she talked about lately. It was early afternoon and she'd just woken   
  
"I'm sick of hearing the same refrain over and over. It's done. He's gone. And good riddance to that mick bastard, I say." Spike still harbored hatred for his grandsire for leaving Dru. She couldn't take care of herself, not now.   
  
" I love him," Darla screamed, allowing her voice to rise. It felt good to feel her throat open and let every ounce of abandonment and anger pour out of her. This stupid childe couldn't understand what it was to be so inextricably tied to someone, to build your life around the certainty that that the two of you would spend eternity together.   
  
His Sire was a lunatic that hadn't been able to instruct him properly. Angelus had to take on the task upon himself and he had managed to take an effeminate poet tied to his mother's apron strings and mold him into a beautiful harbinger of destruction. You'd think the boy would be grateful to him?   
  
Sometimes when she looked at him, it was impossible not to see Angelus and recognize his influence stamped clearly on the younger vampire. That was why she'd been so hard on him lately. Every time she looked at him, it brought the ache of losing Angelus boiling to the surface. Every gesture, every facial expression called to mind a ghost of her mate.   
  
She closed her eyes and bowed her head. Maybe she should have sent him away too. Then she wouldn't have to look at him everyday…and remember.   
  
Her utter defeat froze him for a moment. He'd never seen her display any other emotion but anger, bloodlust, sarcasm…and never anything that would make her look weak to those she considered beneath her. He'd never considered the fact that she was lashing out in loss and didn't know how to react to this very different side of her.   
  
He crossed the room to stand in front of her. "I'm sorry, I've been insensitive. I know you miss him."   
  
He watched her and saw for the first time what his grandsire must see: a beautiful woman surely, but that wasn't the entire impression. She had an aura of strength, the kind of toughness that made her someone that could survive any situation. She was intelligent and shrewd, if more than a little manipulative when the situation called for it, but there was something wounded inside of her. Something carried close inside her that had existed even before she had been turned.   
  
Right now, she just seemed vulnerable and slightly lost. He rested his left hand on her shoulder, trying to bridge the hatred that seemed to define their every interaction. He wasn't sure how to console someone whose vampire lover had been given a soul, he wished he did, because then he could try the same logic on himself.   
  
It seemed easier if he didn't think of Dru as Dru any more. Dru was dead and something else was animating her body. It was cleaner that way, no messy wonderings and 'what ifs'. Dead. Gone. No coming back. The Sire who had rescued him from mediocrity was another memorial to his life before. Darla was a survivor, like him. They would both rise again from this tragedy.   
  
He should say something, but he'd never been good at expressing his feelings. When he was human, even his poetry hadn't been a proper outlet…it'd been laughable. Dead words on a page hadn't been enough, and when he'd tried to say them, they just felt flat on his tongue. He realized now that it was because he hadn't felt anything when he was human. Every remembered emotion was lifeless, two dimensional and diluted when compared to the primal urges he'd experienced since Dru turned him.   
  
The last two decades had taught him that sometimes the only way to truly own the moment was action. So pure. So simple. Actions were something concrete that could be proven objectively. Darla was probably going to hit him, or at least insult his intelligence, sanity and masculinity. But, what the hell.   
  
His hand slid from her shoulder, across her scapula and exerted the slightest pressure between her shoulder blades to guide her closer to him.   
  
She allowed his a few inches before his actions fully registered in her grief stricken mind and she resisted. "What in the hell do you think you're doing…is this boy trying to become a man?"   
  
Now that was the Darla he knew. "Uhhg. You are so emasculating. I'm trying to comfort you, you cow. Can't you be soft like a woman's supposed to be? No wonder Angelus is gone. He was tired of having to prove who was the bigger man."   
  
Her eyes narrowed at the insult. "You whiny little son of a bitch. How dare you say that to me? It's not my fault he's gone."   
  
"Well it's not mine either. He's gone. Deal with it. I lost Dru and I'm not moping about, harping on it all the time."   
  
"Because she's a lunatic!"   
  
"Hey, watch it! That's my Sire you're talking about."   
  
Darla laughed bitterly. "You're pathetic."   
  
She was right. Spike leaned closer to her.   
  
"What are you doing?"   
  
He didn't know. He kissed her forehead cautiously as if a lightening bolt was going to strike him down…or an enraged great grandsire. But neither did. Darla held perfectly still as he kissed lower, between her eyebrows and his right hand came up to rest on her shoulder. He fiddled with the strap of her gown. Lifting the hem, he tucked two fingers underneath the material and slid his knuckles down her skin, following the scoop of the fabric over her jutting clavicle and stopping at the top of her breast. He rubbed the delicate skin there back and forth several times before his fingers advanced a little more and found her hardened nipple. The friction made it tighten further.   
  
This was nice when she wasn't yelling at him.   
  
He kissed her eyelid. "We have to forget about them…move on."   
  
He moved his hand and slid the gown from her shoulder before coming back to cup her breast in his hand. He'd never imagined this. Well, he had at the beginning, but Angelus had soon beaten that out of him, he'd made it abundantly clear to the fledgling that Darla was *his* mate. Even now, Spike had to stifle the mental warning to look over his shoulder.   
  
He should have been concerned about the one in front of him.   
  
Without warning, she reached up to grasp a fistful of his hair at the same time as she twined her ankle around his calf. She pushed her full weight into him and brought him to his knees before he even knew what was happening. Her hand at the back of his head kept his face upturned, inches from her belly.   
  
"Are you hoping to fill the empty daddy position in this house Spike?"   
  
He should have known this was going too well. "I could."   
  
Pure amusement bubbled out in her next words, "How do you figure that?" she smiled and a tug in his hair tilted his head back further.   
  
"Killed a slayer," he boasted, full of pride.   
  
"A Slayer?" She echoed in disbelief. "When?"   
  
"Earlier tonight." He couldn't stop the smirk from appearing on his face, he felt so bloody high, like he was flying. Killing the Slayer had made him feel like he was going to burst. The first thing he'd wanted to do was share it with someone, but Dru wasn't around anymore, just his great grandsire who didn't seem to give a shit about him except to endlessly prove what a failure he was. He must have been insane to think she'd ever allow him any kind of equal footing.   
  
"How many slayers has Angelus killed huh?" he asked in frustration.   
  
"None," she admitted with a new tone of respect. "Frankly precious, I'm pleasantly surprised. I've never heard of one so young defeating a slayer."   
  
All humor left his face, leaving the deadly serious expression of a predator. "I could be something. I could show you things Angelus never dreamed of, if you'd let me…if you'd teach me, like you did him. I could make you…proud."   
  
The memory of an alleyway in Galway made any further words catch in her throat.   
  
//Show me your world//   
  
He rested his chin on her belly, looking up at her silently. She hadn't answered, but appeared to be thinking it over. He buried his face in the silk of her shift, praying she would say yes. One kiss and he felt the involuntary shiver of her muscles.   
  
It had been two years since Dru had left, two years since he'd touched anyone (except to feed from them). Two years of trying to garner some kind of approval or acceptance, and all he'd received was animosity and blame. Why hadn't he left, because there was something holding him here. There was some inexplicable blood tie that kept him chained, made the thought of escape impossible. Darla was the only one who shared his bloodline. Somehow that meant something.   
  
He could smell her through the silk. He kissed the mound of her pubic bone slowly, reverently, praying she would say yes. He was trying not to hope for too much, when he felt her shift and thrust her hips into him just the tiniest bit.   
  
"You're such a troublesome boy Spike…and you're no Angelus."   
  
No refusal yet. He pushed farther into her, tongue wetting the silk that covered her cleft. A pause. "I could be," he whispered. He felt a shiver go through her as he pushed his silk covered tongue inside her and felt a hot flush go through him as well. This was something that had never been allowed. Made bold by her encouragement, he reached up and tugged at her shift.   
  
Darla slipped it over her head, but held her hand up, palm to him. "Swear loyalty to me."   
  
"That's very dramatic," he laughed softly.   
  
"I'm not kidding," her voice held that edge that signaled when she was serious. "I want to present you to The Master. Angelus and I were outcasts, and I'm tired of running. I've seen the world…I've killed on several continents…I want to return home where I belong. I want to sit at the side of The Master, I want to take my rightful place in the Order of Aurelius."   
  
"And me?"   
  
"Yes, I want you to come with me. Angelus had the taste for power, but not the long-term vision. And now? Well…it's a moot point isn't it? Tell me Spike, do you want to be someone who makes a difference, or are you content to live like a hunted dog?"   
  
She *was* being dramatic today. He reached for her again, but she blocked him, saying nothing.   
  
This is what he'd wanted. Unbelievable. He blinked several times before looking up at her. "Whatever you say-I swear to it. I'll work hard and be a good boy," he teased.   
  
She smiled and traced his cheek with her finger. "I believe you will."   
  
Spike ran his hands up the back of her thighs, spreading them and then holding her as he ducked between them. Throwing his head back, he slid his tongue into her cunt. He heard her loud exhalation when he was fully inside her and felt her grab him at the base of his skull with both hands.   
  
He withdrew and spent the next few minutes licking her slit with the entire length of his tongue, circling her clit, then repeating the process over and over again until she opened her legs wider and began grinding at him. He rewarded her by finally reinserting his rigid tongue into her. Her hands squeezed at the back of his neck, pulling him into her, and he could feel her wetness beginning to drip down his chin. When he felt her contract around him, felt her clit pulsing as her knees began to buckle, he sat back and pulled her down on top of him.   
  
"I think there's hope for you yet boy," she mused as she reached between them, fumbling to free him. Finding him already swollen, she straddled him and wiggled a little to seat him fully inside of her. "I think you're going to be a quick study."   
  
Darla rose up a little, releasing about two thirds of his length, then slammed down again…then again. "You're right…must…move…on."   
  
Spike reached up to hold her as he felt his semen shoot into her.   
  
  
**Prague 1910**   
  
  
It was a nightly ritual now.   
  
Every night he had to check on her, see if she was *okay*.   
  
Dru had hired herself out as a companion to an elderly lady. She sat beside the woman as she slept and assisted her as necessary. When the sun rose, a nurse took over and Dru retired to her rooms to sleep the day away. No one questioned her aversion to the sun, no one wondered why such a sweet, obviously well educated woman was husbandless and penniless and spending her life taking care of an old woman as mean as Ms. Daneff. More than once, he'd heard the words Saint and darling girl applied to her.   
  
She was.   
  
Well, she had been before she'd had the misfortune of catching his eye.   
  
Angel had returned to Darla in China, tried to return to his old ways, but soon realized that was impossible. About that time, the guilt over abandoning Drusilla spurred him into a decade long search for her. And he'd found her…here. An invitation from one of the maids hadn't been too hard to get, so he had free access to watch Dru and hopefully keep a better eye on her than he had before.   
  
He'd heard the way that old shrew talked to her, berated her. More than once, he'd had to grit his teeth to keep silent and not give away his presence. Yet Drusilla was always calm, subservient to her employer. This was obviously her way of doing penance, punishing herself and keeping that good Old Catholic guilt weighing down on her. Lord knows there weren't enough confessions and hail Mary's in the world to atone for the sin he'd given her.   
  
Something was different tonight though. He'd felt it when he first walked in the door. Everything was quiet and as he ascended the stairs, the smell of blood came wafting on the air. The first premonition of dread curled in his stomach.   
  
Every door he passed emitted the same fragrance: blood, fear, and death.   
  
What he saw when he reached her rooms broke his heart. The old woman lay across the bed, with the side of her head bashed in. A man's body was crumpled on the floor near the side of the bed and Dru sat curled in a ball, rocking back and forth, covered in blood.   
  
"Drusilla?"   
  
She looked up startled, but hopeful. "Angelus?"   
  
"Oh Dru, what happened?"   
  
"I didn't mean it, he was hurting her and I just wanted to make him stop…he was hurting her."   
  
Angel reached for her and pulled her into his arms. "Sshh, princess. I know"   
  
"He hurt them all Angelus…I didn't mean to do it. Don't be mad…don't go away and leave me alone again. Please."   
  
"Never Dru. I'm here to take care of you now. I'm so sorry I left you. I was a bad daddy. Can you ever forgive me, a ierta…vă rog ?"   
  
"Iartã pe toti numai pe tine nu," she breathed against his chest.   
( FORGIVE all but thyself)   
  
  
**Sunnydale 1997**   
  
Spike allowed sand to pour from the vessel he held in a steady stream, tipped just enough to provide a continuous flow and produce a controlled line as it sifted to the dirt floor. Lines and arcs dissected each other to mimic the pattern he'd memorized.   
  
"The sleeper will wake… The sleeper will wake… The sleeper will wake… The sleeper will wake, and the world will bleed. Amen!"   
  
He returned the iron vase to the short bench by the wall and turned to face his lover. Darla was naked, smiling at the edge of the room. As always, or at least for the last ninety-seven years, his cock was immediately stiff at her very presence.   
  
*Concentrate* he cautioned himself and pushed back the buzzing that seemed to originate at the base of his spine. This was a very delicate ritual and the energies needed to be controlled, directed very carefully. He took a minute to focus his thoughts before reaching his hand out to her.   
  
She sauntered over with a wicked smirk. She was going to push this he could tell, she was going to make this as hard as possible for him, just because she was *that* twisted.   
  
God he loved that about her.   
  
She handed him a shallow dish full of ash and allowed her hand to linger over his as she passed it to him.   
  
He bit his wrist, then took hers and did the same. Interlocking their hands, he held them above the ash so their blood would mingle and drip down onto that powder. When enough had mixed, he grasped her hand and licked the red line from her elbow to the puncture mark.   
  
When he reluctantly released her, a dimple appeared at the corner of her mouth and she raised his wrist to his chest, proceeding to smear a red streak from a point between his nipples to just above his belly button. The blonde curtain of her hair fell forward to cover her face as she leaned toward him and erased the blood trail with her tongue.   
  
Concentrate.   
  
His hand was a little shaky as he stirred the contents of the dish with a finger and brought it up to make a curving line on her forehead above her eyebrow. There was no preconceived design, he allowed his finger to connect with her skin and decorate it with patterns that just seemed to flow from him. Patterns that when he saw them, standing out from her whiteness, made the hairs on his neck stand up with their truth. He handed the ash mixture to her and she began marking her own intricate patterns on his body before setting the bowl to the side.   
  
When he tried to speak, the words wouldn't come. He cleared his throat like a nervous schoolboy and began again, "For all of nine stormy nights I hung upon the tree."   
  
Darla answered, "Wounded by his own blade, Odin consecrated to Odin."   
  
"An offering of myself to myself. Bound to that mighty tree whose roots men know not."   
  
Darla rubbed her hands together vigorously, and then shook them, flicking her fingers several times. She placed her left hand in the center of his chest and the other nudged between his legs and rested on his perineum, between his scrotum and his anus. "None gave him to eat, none gave him to drink."   
  
"Down into the abyss I wandered and sought out the runes."   
  
Darla kept her left hand on his chest, but moved her right to cup his testicles and penis. She began to slowly rock that hand back and forth. "Then he fell into the darkness with a great cry."   
  
"Rebirth I attained."   
  
She moved her right hand to just below his navel. "And also wisdom."   
  
As he felt energy coursing through him he inhaled sharply, but continued, "For I grew strong and exalted in my growing."   
  
Darla's right hand slid up his torso to cover her left. She kept both hands there momentarily, staring mesmerized as the markings on his body seemed to dance and twist in the flickering candlelight, before moving her left hand to curve around his throat. She squeezed slightly, and then continued until her left hand touched his forehead and then the crown of his head. She removed her hands, took a step back and shook them out again.   
  
Spike could feel a tingling circulating in a spiral from the soles of his feet along his spine and ending in a burning sensation at the top of his head. "Thus from one rune was I led to a second. From one act to another."   
  
He sank to the floor and sat with legs crossed, guiding her to sit on his lap directly facing him…belly to belly…heart to heart. She wrapped her legs around him and felt him slide into her open, wetness. They sat like that, with eyes closed, and neither moved for a very long time.   
  
***   
  
"And you're sure that she's coming? You've seen her…you know with certainty she's on her way here?"   
  
Drusilla watched the man pace across the floor. She liked it here, with all of the books. Some of the pages were very old and if she closed her eyes, she could see another time…a time when a wall of books towered above the mother superior as she asked a novice if she were prepared to devote her life to Christ.   
  
The man took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose With the thumb and forefinger of his left hand. He seemed very tired. "The council said she was to have arrived nearly three weeks ago, where is she?"   
  
Her mouth formed a little frown at his distress, but soon twitched into a reassuring curve. "Don't worry, she'll be here soon."   
  
He returned his glasses and looked at her with slight surprise. "Did you see that…in a vision?"   
  
She laughed. This watcher fellow always asked about her *seeing* he seemed fascinated by it, but also a little alarmed. He still seemed to be getting over the orders from his council to work with she and Angel to prevent the rise of The Master. She leaned towards him and spoke in an exaggerated stage whisper, "I know because… Angel…called me this morning."   
  
He looked crestfallen at her mockery, so in what she hoped was an apologetic tone, she added, "He's been following her and her mother. They're about an eight-hour drive from here. But he wanted me to warn you that she seems to be denying her destiny as The Slayer. He hasn't approached her yet and she doesn't know that the council arranged for her mother's job here."   
  
"Then how does he know she's shirking her responsibility?"   
  
"Oh, Angel knows everything about The Slayer. He knows when she's going to *breathe*, even before she does. He's in love with her, you know."   
  
Rupert Giles looked positively aghast at the very suggestion. "A vampire in love with a human…that's…it's…"   
  
"Impossible?" She supplied sadly, warning herself not to try to explore his feelings on the matter.   
  
"I was going to say an abomination," he replied hastily. After the words were out of his mouth, he added a little more kindly, "But the idea of souled vampires in league with the council would have earned my vote for absurd suggestion of the year just a month ago."   
  
***   
  
A pool of blood near the center of the cave began to ripple, waves rolling across the oily, nearly blue surface as a figure began to emerge, a creature who had grown past the curse of human features.   
  
"Master," Spike breathed as he began to pull away from his mate.   
  
Darla felt him slip out of her, rolled smoothly to her knees and bowed her head in respect to the one they had summoned. She sensed her posture mirrored in the actions of her partner beside her. Both waited for his instructions.   
  
He raised a gnarled hand to each. "My children. I am weak."   
  
"In the Harvest he will be restored," Darla repeated the words that had predicted this very event.   
  
When the master beckoned with a wave of his hand, Spike stepped forward and stood as the creature observed the markings covering his body with admiration. Darla's Sire rested his hand against the blonde vampire's chest and skimmed down the symbols, taking time to linger at the ridges of each of Spike's ribs.   
  
"We're almost there. Soon you'll be free," Spike promised softly.   
  
The master moved his hand down and began spiraling his palm over Spike's navel in circles of ever increasing circumference. "I must be ready. I need my strength."   
  
Darla moved behind her mate and put her arms around his chest, mimicking The Master's actions. She bent her upper body, peeked around his shoulder and promised, " We go now to see to it personally, master. We'll bring you a feast."   
  
Spike felt the one in front of him apply pressure to his shoulder and allowed himself to be guided to the floor, where he knelt patiently. The Master offered his wrist and Spike looked up surprised and pleased, and then gingerly tore the flesh to feed.   
  
"My blood is your blood. My soul is your soul," The Master intoned, taking his wrist away from Spike.   
  
"My body is your instrument."   
  
Darla's Sire swirled a finger in the blood that flowed at his wrist, and then began painting a sigil on Spike's forehead. "On this... most hallowed night... we are as one. Spike is the Vessel!"   
  
Darla smiled widely and leaned forward as The Master beckoned her. Over her lover's head, he kissed her and said, "Every soul he takes will feed me. And their souls will grant me the strength to free myself. Tonight I shall walk the Earth, and the stars themselves will hide!"   
  
***   
  
Darla walked into the mausoleum with the ghost of ash and blood still marking her. She stopped when she saw Thomas with a skinny redhead. "Is this the best you could do?" She asked as she threw a boy with a broken arm on the floor in front of her.   
  
"She's fresh," he defended his choice.   
  
Darla sniffed. "She's like one of those thin soups they serve before the meal. Not very filling, and a complete waste of time."   
  
"Jesse," the girl called when she recognized the boy moaning in pain in front of her. She grabbed his arm, pulling at his sleeve and said, "Let's get out of here."   
  
"You're not going anywhere," Darla warned the pair of humans.   
  
"Well, this is nice. I-it's a little bare, but a dash of paint, a few throw pillows... call it home!"   
  
Darla turned to the entrance and saw a girl and another boy in the doorway, it was the girl who had spoken. This town was really quite disrespectful. What was the world coming to when victims were no longer properly cowed? "Who the hell are you?"   
  
The girl rushed forward in a flurry of movement and buried a stake in Thomas' chest in the blink of an eye. "Now, we can do this the hard way, or... well, actually there's just the hard way."   
  
The suspicion formed in the back of her mind, and Darla felt quiver of excitement go through her. "That's fine with me."   
  
"Are you sure? Now, this in not gonna be pretty. We're talking violence, strong language, adult content..."   
  
The human ran at her, Darla threw a punch and was surprised when the girl blocked it. Darla tried a backhanded punch and growled in frustration as that one was blocked as well. The kick to her stomach that followed brought her to her knees and an elbow to her back sent her to the floor on her stomach. She heard the children run outside as the girl spoke again.   
  
"Do you know who I am?"   
  
"Slayer?" Darla heard Spike's voice echo in the mausoleum and saw the human fly through the air, hit the wall and slide to the floor.   
  
"Ah," the girl picked herself up, turned and pivoted so she could keep both vampires in her sight. She still appeared a little dazed, but shook it off quickly. "You must have got my memo?" She did a double take when she noticed the similar tattoos of faded ash and added, "What is this, some kind of alternative mendhori freak show?"   
  
Spike helped Darla to her feet. "Trying to work up an appetite luv?"   
  
"She chased away the food…" Darla groused, brushing herself off. "Plus, she's really pissing me off."   
  
He kissed her once, hard, in anticipation of the battle to come. "Not for long darling." He turned and faced the human. "You're wasting time."   
  
"Sorry to disturb your busy sucking schedule, but hey, I had other plans too."   
  
Spike and Darla approached the girl from opposite sides. They'd been hunting partners and lovers for ninety-seven years; there was not one movement that wasn't perfectly devoted to their objective: the death of The Slayer.   
  
"You probably think you'll win this fight…you being a Slayer and all?" Spike asked as he studied her. He wanted to see which defense moves she relied on, was there a pattern to her choices? "That won't matter."   
  
"You think you can stop us?" Darla was pleased to see the girl acknowledge the question with a shrug. If The Slayer divided her time between them, she would be distracted.   
  
"Have you ever fought a Slayer before…I've killed a lot of vampires."   
  
Spike approached the girl, attacked her with a double punch, but she blocked it and returned a blow to his gut and a snap kick to his jaw. It was a good hit, it hurt, but her assault was diminished because she tried to keep Darla in her peripheral sights. He retreated a step, looking for another opening. "I hate to brag…but Darla and I have killed six Slayers between us. Want to be lucky seven?"   
  
Darla got in a quick jab to the girls back. "You have no idea what you're dealing with."   
  
The girl did a sudden cartwheel, trying to reach the stake she dusted Thomas with earlier, but Spike was there seconds after her. He grabbed her wrist; having noted that she was right handed, he twisted sharply and thought to himself 'not anymore' before he threw her across the room where Darla waited.   
  
"And like a plague of boils, the race of man covered the Earth." Darla quoted as she aimed a kick at the slayer who was busy trying to roll away after hitting the wall.   
  
Spike closed the distance between he, his mate and the Slayer. "But on the third day of the newest light would come the Harvest. And the blood of men will flow as wine."   
  
Darla followed the Slayer, kicking her two times in the ribs before hauling her up and holding the girl in front of her, Darla interlocked their arms, immobilizing the girl against her chest and held her there, like a present to the vessel. "When the Master will walk among them once more!"   
  
Spike stepped closer and grabbed The Slayers foot when she tried to kick him. He trapped it against his hip. "'The Earth will belong to the old ones." She twisted the leg he held and tried to use him as leverage to bring the other up in a kick. He caught that one as well and spread them as he pushed closer into her, nestled in the cradle of her limbs. "And Hell itself will come to town."   
  
As Darla held the girl tightly, he grabbed a hank of hair, pulled her head back and fitted his teeth in the groove that ran down the side of her neck. He thrust his pelvis forward, trapping the girl between them and tore two small holes in her, feeling her flow into him.   
  
Darla reached around to hold the back of his head while he fed. "Amen."   
  
They say the blood of a Slayer is a powerful aphrodisiac. That had always been his experience. 


End file.
